When Sherlock took the risk and created an opportunity, Harry seized it without a moment's hesitation.
The tail fin of the Firebolt cut a sharp whistle through the air, and the powerful thrust pressed the wind hard against Harry's cheeks.
In just a few seconds, the nest of dragon eggs wrapped in dark red scales and scorching breath was already right before his eyes.
At this moment, the Hungarian Horntail maintained a stiff and awkward posture. It reared up its body, its enormous black and rough wings fully spread like a small airplane.
This was because Sherlock's recent interference was still taking effect. As a result, its pair of front legs covered with hooked claws which had previously been firmly guarding the eggs could no longer form any barrier.
In this moment, Harry's mind suddenly became extraordinarily clear. The fear churning in his chest, worries about his own safety, and miscellaneous thoughts about whether he could succeed were all cast behind him.
His green eyes reflected the golden gleaming target in the center of that nest of eggs. His heart beat out a firm rhythm along with the Firebolt's vibration. Only one thought remained in his mind. I'm sorry, but I'm going to win this match!
At less than ten feet from the ground, Harry's wrist suddenly exerted force, controlling the Firebolt to execute half of a standard Wronski Feint. It was only half because at the instant the dive was about to touch ground, he didn't pull sharply upward as was conventional. Instead, relying on astonishing control, he forced the Firebolt to hover steadily three feet from the ground, stopping precisely in front of the dragon eggs.
In that split second, Harry quickly released the broomstick handle, his freed hands rapidly reaching out and securely scooping up the golden egg. The cool sensation transmitted from his hands, and the golden egg sparkled brilliantly in the sunlight.
"I did it!" Harry couldn't suppress his excited shout, and the Firebolt immediately soared into the air like an arrow released from a bow.
At the same time, the Hungarian Horntail finally recovered to its normal state and angrily lunged toward Harry's previous position. Unfortunately, it caught only empty air.
Even for a dragon, in such circumstances it could only helplessly watch the Firebolt's tail. It suddenly opened its mouth and once again spewed flames, but this too was merely impotent fury, because Harry had already flown beyond its range.
He tucked the heavy golden egg under his arm and ascended back to the high altitude, successfully reuniting with Sherlock and Cedric.
The silence in the spectator stands lasted only a fraction of a second before erupting into thunderous cheers.
Mr. Bagman's passionately excited voice, amplified by the Sonorous Charm, echoed in every corner of the entire arena. "Look at that! Magnificent! Absolutely spectacular! One move flowing perfectly into the next! A flawless Transfiguration charm! A simple yet effective Summoning charm! A flier fast to the extreme!"
Bagman shouted loudly, now so excited he couldn't control himself, and his commentary clearly carried personal bias.
"The Hogwarts team with two underage champions has thus legendarily obtained the golden egg! Our youngest champion has shown the flair of a Quidditch player at this moment! Simply wonderful, this took far less time than I imagined!
I seem to see a new star rising! A great Seeker from Hogwarts! He has inherited England's glorious tradition! Roderick, Plumpton, and Barbary are possessing his soul at this moment! Harry Potter alone represents the long history and tradition of English Quidditch, at this moment he's not fighting alone, he's not alone!"
If this were a different setting, Bagman's commentary would certainly be criticized to death. However, this was Britain, this was Hogwarts. Sherlock, Harry, and Cedric were fighting on home ground, and ninety-nine percent of the spectator stands were filled with Hogwarts people.
Under these circumstances, no matter how much Bagman praised his own people, there would be no problem, everyone would instead think he showed true character and was a good fellow. Of course, if he used this exaggerated tone to praise Beauxbatons or Durmstrang, he would most likely face the risk of being dismissed.
High in the air, Cedric's shoulder began bleeding again. But at this moment, he didn't care at all, grinning happily and laughing heartily, "Well done, Sherlock! Our Plan A succeeded! Harry, good job! Did you hear what Mr. Bagman said? Worthy of coming from Hogwarts, you really didn't let us down!"
The much-praised Harry now felt somewhat embarrassed instead. "I didn't... I'm not as amazing as he said..."
Sherlock spoke seriously, however. "No, you're even more amazing than he said."
"Ah?" Harry froze, looking up at Sherlock.
"Although I don't know who those people he mentioned are, I'll bet you half a Galleon, Harry..." Sherlock's lips curved into a slight smile, his eyes containing undisguised appreciation. "Not one of them could snatch a golden egg from right under a Hungarian Horntail's nose."
Harry's face burned hot from the praise, and he laughed somewhat embarrassedly, tightening his arms around the golden egg.
At this moment, dragon handlers on the field rushed toward the Hungarian Horntail, hastening to calm its fury. They looked rather miserable, but there was no helping it, this was their job.
Among the hurrying dragon handlers, the striking figure of one witch was particularly conspicuous. Gemma Farley. Before rushing toward the dragon, her footsteps paused slightly as she raised her head. The gaze from her sea-blue eyes pierced through the smoke and clamor filling the sky, looking toward the high altitude.
At the same time, Sherlock also seemed to sense something and lowered his head. Though the two were separated by dozens of feet, their gazes met at this moment. Everything was understood without words.
However, Sherlock had no time to reminisce with Gemma at the moment. At the entrance to the field, Professor McGonagall, Professor Lupin, Professor Sprout, and Hagrid hurriedly came over to greet them. All of them were waving desperately at the three, calling them over.
Even at such a distance, the smiles on their faces were clearly visible. Harry and Cedric couldn't help flying over the stands again, the clamor of the crowd hammering at their eardrums. The two exchanged glances, feeling high-spirited at this moment with a flying broomstick in hand!
Sherlock descended steadily to the ground. There were no surprises, everything was under control.
"That was absolutely spectacular, Holmes!" As soon as Sherlock dismounted from his flying broomstick, Professor McGonagall strode forward. Her usually stern face rarely showed excited expression, and her voice was several notes higher than usual. Given her consistently rigorous character, being able to say such words was already extremely high praise.
At this time, Harry and Cedric also successively returned to the ground. Professor Sprout pointed at the three of them, her fingers trembling slightly. "Before the judges score, Diggory and Holmes, you need to see Madam Pomfrey..."
"Cedric can go, I'm fine." Sherlock said casually. His protective measures had been thorough, and nothing was wrong with him at all.
"Who says so?" Professor Lupin's gentle voice interjected, his gaze falling on the somewhat blackened hem of Sherlock's robes from burning. "You think you were only burned on your robes, but in reality you may very well have injured your skin."
"Go on, Sherlock, listen to Professor Sprout!" Professor McGonagall's tone rarely softened, saying gently, "Potter can stay here to wait for the judges' scores."
Seeing that all three professors were so insistent, Sherlock helplessly shrugged and could only turn with Cedric to leave the field.
At this time, Hagrid's rough voice like grinding stones came from behind, excitedly bellowing at Harry. "You did it, Harry! You were dealing with a Horntail—you know Charlie said Horntails are the most ferocious—"
"Thank you, Hagrid." Harry immediately interrupted him loudly.
Hearing this, Sherlock's lips unconsciously curved into a knowing smile. Harry was still very experienced. If he let Hagrid continue talking, he would most likely blurt out the matter of taking Harry to secretly see the dragons before the competition. This was Hagrid, never expect him to keep any secrets.
"Sherlock, that move of yours was both beautiful and decisive." Seeing Sherlock smile, Cedric naturally didn't know he was thinking about Hagrid, and thought he too was happy that the three had passed the first task.
"You know, this is the first time in months my mood has been this relaxed!" Perhaps having unloaded his burden, Cedric opened up, his tone carrying a trace of relief at having survived. "I can't believe we just passed the first task like that, we survived..."
"The first task involving dragons was indeed somewhat unexpected, but to say we couldn't survive is rather exaggerated."
"I don't think it's exaggerated, Sherlock. I now understand why the Triwizard Tournament in history was discontinued due to too many deaths." Cedric said with lingering fear, "Just now if the three of us had been the slightest bit careless, we might have died on the field like those predecessors."
"If that had happened, the Triwizard Tournament would probably have to be discontinued for another few hundred years—and we would have become people who go down in history." Sherlock chuckled lightly, his tone carrying a trace of dark humor. "If nothing else, in that book Hermione often mentions, 'Hogwarts. A History,' they would definitely add the names of the three of us."
Cedric clearly wasn't quite suited to this kind of joke, and could only cough awkwardly several times, choosing silence. Fortunately, the two soon walked out of the arena.
Madam Pomfrey was standing at the entrance to the second tent. Her arms were folded across her chest, her brow furrowed into a knot, her expression appearing especially anxious.
"Dragons!" As soon as she saw the two, she complained in a disgusted tone under her breath. Then without allowing refusal, she grabbed Sherlock and Cedric by the arm and pulled them into the tent.
The tent was filled with a strong herbal smell. Madam Pomfrey first carefully examined Cedric's shoulder while huffing and puffing non-stop. "Two years ago it was trolls, last year basilisks, the year before Dementors, and this year dragons! What will they bring into Hogwarts next? This is a school, not a magical creature exhibition!"
"Er... Madam Pomfrey, this is the Triwizard Tournament, dragons appearing is normal..."
"I don't care about that! I only care that my students are safe and sound!"
At this moment, Madam Pomfrey's presence was fully unleashed as she glared fiercely at Cedric, who still dared to talk back. That sharp gaze made him fall silent.
"You're rather fortunate... the wound is shallow... but first I need to clean it, then I'll treat you..." Her mouth kept running, but her hands weren't slow at all. As she spoke, she cleaned Cedric's wound with a smoking, foul-smelling purple liquid.
Sherlock observed this scene curiously. After cleaning the wound with the liquid, Madam Pomfrey gently touched the wound with her wand tip. As she recited the incantation, the previously bleeding wound began to heal at a visible rate, soon leaving only a faint red mark.
Sherlock nodded thoughtfully. It seemed the key reason his spell hadn't worked earlier was not using this liquid to clean the wound. This was normal enough, there's specialization in every profession.
After treating Cedric, Madam Pomfrey turned her attention to Sherlock, her brow furrowing even tighter. "Were you burned?"
"I don't think so, but the teachers weren't reassured and insisted I come for a checkup." Sherlock spread his hands.
"They were right to send you to me!" Madam Pomfrey said with a stern face, "Dragon breath isn't ordinary fire, it has extremely strong penetrating and corrosive properties. Even just grazing it requires objects with very strong defensive capabilities to withstand it... wait, what's this?"
Her words suddenly stopped as her gaze fell on the hem of Sherlock's robes, then she reached inside and pulled out a cake-like object. The edges were already burned black, and the surface still had traces of scorching from sparks.
"Oh, that's a rock cake." Sherlock explained calmly.
Madam Pomfrey looked incredulous. "Why did you bring this to the Triwizard Tournament?"
Cedric on the side also stared wide-eyed.
"You may not believe it, but I thought I might get hungry during the competition, so I brought it along when I came over." Sherlock said earnestly.
Madam Pomfrey: "..."
Cedric: "..."
The tent fell into brief silence, with only the smell of herbs permeating the air.
After a moment, Madam Pomfrey recovered. She looked at the rock cake with a complex expression, then at Sherlock.
"Regardless, it protected you, which is a good thing, if not for it, you would probably have been burned..." She paused and added, "However, I don't recommend you eat it; it's, you know, too hard."
Sherlock smiled slightly, nodded, and said he understood.
A glint of cunning flashed in his eyes. This thing was never meant to be eaten anyway.
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